


i don’t even know your name

by erinx



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Coffee, Cute, F/M, Los Angeles, Short, Short & Sweet, Short Story, Slow Burn, Strangers, Sweet, barista, bughead - Freeform, bughead au, coffeeshop, not set in riverdale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-03-07 05:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13427628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinx/pseuds/erinx
Summary: Betty Cooper has a crush on the boy who orders a black coffee every morning. Too bad he changes his name every day.





	1. Liam

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfics are a means for me to experiment different writing styles. Feedback is very much appreciated!
> 
> (Contact me via Twitter @svmberg)

I don’t even know his name.

But I know his face and his voice, the way he already has his money prepared before he orders, the way he walks and talks and types on his computer. I know the way he pauses to think, the way he licks his lips, the way he adjusts his strange crown beanie. How funny is it to know a stranger so well?

It’s day sixteen of seeing Coffee Boy. A Thursday! Thursdays are the absolute best. I could swim in endless Thursdays.

You see, every day (from Mondays through Saturdays, at least), Coffee Boy walks into _Meg’s Mug_ and orders a black coffee to-go – except for Thursdays, where it won’t be to-go and instead he’ll finish the coffee on a table. He then begins an hour-long series of him typing on his computer – writing, I assume.

 

The first time I saw him, it was a Wednesday. I was working at the shop for almost a month. I dropped out of college a few months before and moved to LA to prove something. Things were looking pretty bleak during the summer. That is, until I saw him enter the shop that morning. It was never really full – peak hours were in the morning, wherein we served only a couple dozen people at most. Nobody was ordering and I was accustomed to our usual stream of customers when the bell chimed at eight thirty-three a.m. and someone I didn’t recognize caught my eye.

He walked with his head down low, and yet the whole ceiling seemed to have fallen as he walked. How strange was it to see someone so beautiful yet so unproud? He didn’t seem aware of the fact that he was possibly the most gorgeous person I had ever seen and that I could not stop looking at him. Almost as though it was in slow motion, he walked towards the counter and read the menu above my head.

He was tall and his eyes were blue. So blue, in fact, that I figured that perhaps I could swim in them since they resembled the ocean so well and so much. His hair was jet black and short and wavy, contrasting the lightness of his skin and the brightness of his eyes. His hands were inside the pockets of his light blue Sherpa jacket, a cold morning for the summer.

“Hi,” I whispered breathless. “Can I take your order?” I hoped he didn’t notice the fact that I was staring at him like a creep. Who knew the soft spoken Betty Cooper could stare like such a creep?

He looked at me, and it took all of the energy within me to not look into his eyes and melt. “One medium cup of black coffee, to-go,” he answered. His voice had a sweet and soothing ring to it, not too loud or too soft.

“O- _kaaay,”_ I said, typing in his order and immediately regretting the weird way I had said it. I flinched – God, I was _so_ embarrassing. “That’ll be ninety-nine cents,” I said with a smile that he did not return.

He gave me the money on the palm of my hand, not meeting my eye. He seemed way more interested in the plywood counter than in me. “Name?” I asked, and I was happy that I would get to know his name. His name!

“Theo,” he answered. Theo. It was a nice name, probably short for Theodore. Then he got his coffee and then he was gone.

To my surprise, however, he came back again the next day – with a new name. Peter. He didn’t get his coffee to-go. Instead, he had it in a mug, and he drank it while he typed and typed and typed on his computer for an hour. I figured that maybe Peter was his second name. Or his last name. Or maybe this was his twin brother.

Then after an hour, he turned off his laptop and was gone. It happened again on Friday – and his name was Victor, except he only brought his laptop on Thursdays. And he came again on Saturday, as James. Was he messing with me? Was his real name actually Theo? Was it something horrible? He didn’t even seem to crack the smallest of smiles as he said his name of the day. I wondered and wondered what his reasons could possibly be.

 

Two weeks later and we have today. Coffee Boy is here! He walks in with a gray t-shirt and jeans and sneakers and of course, his crown beanie, which he wears without fail every single day. I wonder if he ever takes it off. He also has a backpack, which has his laptop in it.

He’s not looking at me. He never looks at me. I don’t take it as rudeness – he’s just introverted and shy. Maybe eye contact makes him uncomfortable. I get that. In fact, I’m quite glad he doesn’t look at me. I look perfectly ordinary, except for when I give him the creepiest stare ever.

“Hi, can I take your order?” I ask, in the cheeriest voice I could muster. Clearly, he doesn’t care much for me. Maybe he just knows me as the _Meg’s Mug_ girl. But to me, he’s _the_ Coffee Boy. My favorite customer. The highlight of my morning.

“One medium cup of black coffee,” he answers. So many thoughts go through my mind. (One) My favorite view is him standing in front of me, and the glass doors are behind him, and the beige walls of the coffee shop make a perfect movie shot. (Two) His eyelashes are so long and so dark, that I wonder if they ink the bottom of his eyes when he blinks. (Three) He should be a model. Genuinely. Seriously. Totally. (Four) I want to talk to him. Like, _really_ talk to him. And get to know him.

“To drink here?” I ask, even if I already know the answer. He nods in reply, and I type in his order. “Ninety-nine cents. Name?”

As he pays, my heart skips a beat. I can’t wait to hear whatever name he’s concocted today. “Liam,” he replies, running his hands up and down his backpack straps. So that’s his name for the day, Liam.

“It’ll be right up,” I say with a smile. Coffee Boy nods and walks over to his usual table, turns on his laptop, and clicks a bit before typing again. His eyes are brighter when the computer screen lights them up, and he’s on a roll of writing (or maybe coding. Who knew?).

He seems so absorbed, as if the computer screen will swallow him whole if he stops for more than half a minute. Typing and typing and typing. He pauses a bit to think, looking out the window so the sunlight peers through his face and he looks so, _so_ photogenic and stunning and it begins to bother me that he seems totally clueless on his utter gorgeousness. I wonder what he's thinking and writing about. Again. I can't help but wonder like a maniac. It's quite insane how absorbed  _I_ am.

Suzette, one of my coworkers, serves him his coffee. He nods in return, taking a sip before typing again and again and again. It goes on for an hour. I take orders and look at him and chat with Suzette about the weather and then I sneak glances at him and he thankfully doesn’t notice.

I don’t know why he’s so interesting. He just _is._ There’s nothing grandly _striking_ , just simply _beautiful_.

"Betty? There's a customer," Suzette interrupts me my thoughts. There is, in fact, a customer. Suzette doesn't know about Coffee Boy - even though I know she might give me good advice, since she's been married for six years to her high school sweetheart.

"Oh, sorry," I mumble. I take the order and then I'm back to staring like an idiot.

He’s not the answer or anything to some big mystery in my life. In fact, he’s just a bunch of questions. I’m endlessly curious. Who _is_ he? What is he doing? What does he do? Why is he so attractive? How is it possible that he even exists? And what in the world is his name? He didn't look like a Liam. But I wasn't quite sure what name he looked like, either.

When he leaves, my life is back to being useless and uninteresting. I am back to being worrisome. I start to think about college, and my future, and my mom and dad, and Chic and Polly, and suddenly everything that makes me feel cold and nervous and stupid is chasing after me and I'm not a good runner. I try to push the thoughts away but it's too late. I'm sad again because of how much of a rote my life has become. I came to Los Angeles to prove something. And all I've done so far is get a crap job and obsess over a stranger. Not like the usual Betty Cooper at all.

When I leave after work that afternoon, my best friend Veronica asks if we can meet for dinner, which I agree to (not even _she_ knows about Coffee Boy. Coffee Boy is my own personal secret. I intend to keep it that way). We talk about a lot of things, and I get my mind off today, where I spent half the time thinking about Coffee Boy and the other half hating every decision I made.

Also, when my mom calls me later that evening, I decline the call.


	2. Nicholas

It’s day twenty. A Monday. Eight fifty-five. And Coffee Boy is late.

He’s never been late before. He usually shows up some time between eight twenty and eight forty. Never later, never earlier. I start to wonder – what if he’s not just late? What if he’s not coming back at all? What if he’s realized there are better coffee shops? (Which there are, by the way. _Meg’s Mug_ is one run-of-the-mill café).

I’m staring out the door, my hands cold and beads of sweat trickling down my forehead. It’s kind of insane how weirdly nervous I get over the arrival of a stranger. I saw him last Saturday, and Coffee Boy came as George.

I start to wonder: what if Saturday’s the last time I’m ever going to see him? The thought of never coming across his bright eyes and angelic face ever again… the thought of never getting to see him smile or laugh… the thought that I’d never know his true name… something in the pit of my stomach begins to rise up in my throat. I hate the feeling. It feels as though the sun’s about to go out.

“You okay?” Suzette’s voice interrupts my thoughts. I look at her for a few seconds, in a daze. “You’ve been sulking and staring outside. Are you okay?”

I finally snap from it. “Oh yeah. I am. Just tired, that’s all.”

“I wouldn’t say tired; I’d say anxious,” Suzette says, absentmindedly turning her wedding ring around her finger. At twenty-four, she’s just five years older than me. But with her maturity and life experience, most times our age gap feels like much more.

“Nothing serious,” I say reassuringly. And in all seriousness, it _was_ nothing serious – in the grand scheme of things, at least. But it felt serious. What will my mornings be like without Coffee Boy? It would change everything. Absolutely nothing to look forward to – all I would have is something to look back at. A memory. Suzette raises an eyebrow, dubious, but then she has to attend to a customer.

Eight fifty-seven. Still nothing.

He’s not coming, I think. Not today, at least. Perhaps not even tomorrow. Maybe never again. I feel the world start to shrink since I’ll never see those blue eyes and hear those different names and serve that ninety-nine-cent coffee to the only customer that truly matters.

Oh God oh God oh God. I absolutely hate how I feel right now. Somehow he’s managed to become a part of my life routine and morning glow, and the idea of being without him to look forward to…it’s like being an eagle but falling in love with the ocean.

Just as my Coffee Boy hopes and dreams continue to wane further, he arrives. He arrives!

It’s nine a.m. and he’s rushing, his beanie barely in place. Under his beanie, I see his dark messy hair sticking out all over the place. His shoelaces are untied (was he _that_ late?). His shirt is crumpled. I wonder how he’ll manage to go to work in that state. (Not to mention, what _was_ his job? Did he have a job? He looked about my age. Young. Maybe twenty. Definitely not over twenty-one.) He seemed to just have rushed out of bed. But I think that in spite of his chaotic condition, he still looks quite lovely. If anything, he looks all the more appealing with his furrowed eyebrows and nervous face – a look I’ve never seen on him before.

As he half runs, half brisk-walks towards the counter, I find myself typing in his order before he even arrives. What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I –

When he’s at the counter, he’s panting. He reaches into his pocket as he speaks. “One bla – ”

“Ninety-nine cents,” I interrupt, without thinking much of it. I’m trying to help him, I guess. But I realize this is probably a horrid idea. He’s probably extremely creeped out. Heat rushes all over my body and I feel my lungs about to burst. And in the midst of me exposing myself, he takes out his money from his pocket.

“Oh,” is all he says. He’s not making a discernable expression to show how he feels about this. I’m pretty sure he feels disturbed. Violated. It must be crazy from his point of view, that (one) I know his order, (two) I know he’s late –  since it implies that I understand his schedule, and (three) I’m making some face – torn between relief that he’s here and anxiousness because he’s right in front of me. Not a very flattering face.

“Name?” I ask. Between the two seconds it takes for him to answer, I realize plenty of things under the umbrella that it’s all _over:_ he’s not going to come back tomorrow after crazy barista girl memorized his order and schedule. I screwed things up. I hope I’m not shaking because boy, am I shaken. Why am I doing this? Why can’t I act _normal?_

“Nicholas,” he answers abruptly, handing me the money. Before I can call Suzette to make his order, I turn around to make it myself as fast I can. I already messed things up, anyway – might as well mess it up _well._ Medium cup. Black coffee. Cup holder. I’m trembling while doing it.

I turn around to face him. “For Nicholas,” I say quickly, handing it to him. I’m looking at his blue eyes. I’m looking at his eyes as though it’s the last time I’m ever going to see his blue eyes. It might be. It feels like the biggest deal in the universe. Maybe right now, it is. The universe knows it.

He looks stunned – certainly not an emotion I’ve seen on him before. He’s not coming back again. Not after this.

But then I realize I’m wrong.

Because I see the smallest hint of a smile – of gratitude. On his face. The microscopical curve of his lips and softening of his eyes. It’s mad how I notice it. But one can’t help but notice the slight change of expression in the face of Coffee Boy. He’s special that way.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, taking the cup. Then he turns around before I can detect any other change of emotion.

Somehow, I know he’ll be back again tomorrow.

 

Veronica Lodge is my best friend.

She studies in UCLA, originally from New York City. I come from a small town hours away. We met only last year, just before I dropped out. But somehow, she’s the best friend I never really had back home.

We’re at her penthouse now (I live here, too), having dinner on the couch in front of the television, though neither of us care about the game show ongoing onscreen. Instead, we’re absorbed in our slices of cheesecake and the conversation we’re having. You see, Veronica’s the kind of person who has a lot of crazy things happen to her, which is why she’s such a wonderful storyteller.

“I wanted to get out of there, to be honest. He couldn’t talk about anything other than himself and he couldn’t bother to realize that he wasn’t asking me questions,” Veronica says, taking a bite from the cake. She’s a serial dater, especially now since it’s the summer and she’s wealthy enough to not need a job. “I just want someone I can _talk_ to, you know? Someone sweet and loyal and just the right amount of clueless.”

Veronica sighs, looking dreamily into the television.

I smile as I take a bite from my cheesecake. I can’t help but think about Coffee Boy. If only she knew. But I can’t tell her about my non-existential relationship with him – it’s too intimate and weird. I don’t want to break the bubble I’m in. Instead, I choose to give her advice, based on my little experience. “If you don’t want cocky guys, V, you have to change the scene you go to. Don’t go to high-end nightclubs – which aren’t even legal for you, by the way. You have to go somewhere calmer – with more intellectually inclined and sensitively kind people.”

Veronica, nodding thoughtfully, scraped cheesecake from her now empty plate. “You’re absolutely right. But where do I go? The library? On campus?  That’s _so_ not Lodge-like.”

“You’re Veronica Lodge. You can flirt _anywhere._ I mean it,” I reassure her. And I did mean it. It was true.

Veronica smiles. “I should have listened to my mom and gone to New York for the summer. You’re too sweet, Betty. I’m gonna have diabetes. And if you’re going to keep bringing home leftover cheesecake from the coffeeshop…I might as well shower in sugar.”

I laugh. “You were the one who asked for cheesecake!” I argue.

“You’re supposed to say no and force me not to have it!” She exclaims, playfully throwing a pillow at me. “By the way, have you talked to _your_ mom?”

As if on cue, my phone begins to ring. I see my mom’s caller ID, and I know I’m going to decline. I don’t block her number even if I never answer because maybe – just maybe – I’ll finally gain the guts to speak to her and decide to answer the phone. But for now…

“I’m not ready,” I say, declining the call. Veronica gives me a sad look. The mood’s changed so fast and I’m not sure what to say.

“You’ll have to talk to her one day or another,” Veronica tells me.

“Not today,” I say, putting the phone away. “Not today.”


	3. Archie

Day twenty-three. Thursday. Thursdays are my favorite because Coffee Boy stays for an hour – which gives me a chance to see him a lot longer. I see his focus and talent, something that’s way more personal than hearing his coffee order. Five days a week he’s usually collected and distant, never susceptible to the keys on his computer.

He enters at his usual time. His lateness last Monday hadn’t repeated, so things went back to being normal. Yet, I wouldn’t call getting excited over a stranger normal). He’d get his coffee and go. Except now, he added a thank you.

He never used to say thank you. It made all the difference to me. Things were changing, even at the slowest of paces.

Progress, Betty. Progress.

I notice he looks different. He’s wearing something more formal today, which is strange. I’m used to his usual assemble of jeans and t-shirts. But today, he’s wearing a white button-down with rolled sleeves, black jeans, and black sneakers. He’s holding his bag and still has his beanie on, but his hair is combed today. He reminds me of an angel.

He arrives at the counter. “Hi, can I take your order?” I ask, adjusting my name-tag. Something about his aura feels completely altered today. It isn’t just his outfit that’s changing it, though.

He’s holding his money in his hand. “One medium cup of black coffee to drink here,” he says with a nod. He still doesn’t look at me directly – he’s always looking at the menu or at the counter. I guess I’m not exactly the best sight in the morning with my long and creepy stares.

I type in his order. “All right, got it. That will be ninety-nine cents,” I say with a smile. He hands me the money before sticking his hands in his pockets. “Name?”

“Archie,” he answers. Archie. I don’t know what to think of the name. It’s quite odd.

I nod. “It’ll be right up,” I tell him.

“Thank you,” he says with a nod, heading over to his usual seat. He brings out his laptop and turns it on. Then he’s off to his usual activity of hitting the keys on his laptop.

I stare, wondering why somehow things seem different today. I was so sure that it was more than his outfit. But things felt the same. Even as Suzette serves him his coffee, nothing new or out of the ordinary happens.

So I go back to my routine of admiring him typing and typing for about half an hour when something begins ringing.

It’s his phone! His phone is ringing! He’s never brought out his phone before. He takes it out of his pocket and answers. “Hello?” I’ve never heard him say that. I understand now why everything feels brand new and different today. Everything. “Hey, Archie,” he says onto the phone, “happy birthday, man.”

Archie. He has a friend named Archie. And it’s Archie’s birthday – whoever he is. Maybe that’s why things feel different today. Maybe that’s why he’s wearing something more formal.

Certainly, though, it's the reason why his name’s Archie today.

He isn’t talking loudly, but the coffee shop is quiet and the only thing playing is a soft instrumental. It’s easy to focus on the sound of his voice and what he’s saying. After a few seconds, he says, “Of course. I’ll see you tonight with the guys. Seven o’clock. Blue Mahogany right?”

Blue Mahogany. I know that place. It’s a restaurant a fifteen-minute walk away.

“I’m never late,” he says. “Okay, fine. Sometimes I’m late. But I’ll leave work early today. I won’t be late tonight,” he says before smiling.

Smiling! His smile is probably the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Time seems to freeze within the few seconds that pass before he speaks again. His lips are pointing upwards, and somehow his eyes seem to light up, crinkling at the edges. He’s glowing. Breathtaking.

His smile fades as he nods. “Yeah. Okay, see you. Happy Birthday,” he says, ending the call.

He returns to typing and typing and typing.

An idea crosses my mind – one that I try to push away.

It’s going to push boundaries, I realize. Not a good idea. I should be content with what I have now. So many things could go wrong. But even when Coffee Boy leaves, the idea plays around in my mind majority of the day and I can’t help but want to do it.

After my shift, I decide: I’m going to the Blue Mahogany.

 

My shift ended at six-thirty, which gives me about half an hour to prepare before going to the Blue Mahogany. I change out of my work uniform and replace it with a green sundress, and then I start my walk for the restaurant.

My plan is: don’t let him see me. I don’t want him to think I’ve been listening or following him around, obviously. I just want to see him with this Archie guy and his friends. I want to catch Coffee Boy laughing again, somewhere outside the company of his computer. I want to know him better, even just a little bit better. Just a glimpse will do.

It’s a stalker move, but it’s as far as I’ll go. I have good intentions! It’s completely pure of heart. I don’t have plans on starting anything or making a move. He’s just a figure of my adoration, that’s all.

Who could blame me? If his ocean blue eyes weren’t enough to send me spinning, then it was most likely the curve of his jaw or the way he walks, or the rush of energy that went through him when he typed his time away. It was almost reasonable to want to follow him, even if he was a stranger. I think any other sane and rational person would, too.

It’s not like he knows or cares.

When I arrive at the Blue Mahogany at seven, I wait outside for a moment. I look through the window. It was a rustic place, with wooden furniture and dark lighting. It wasn’t fancy, but it clearly had food on the pricier side just by looking at the cushioning on the chairs.

I could go inside and order a drink and not have to spend too much.

As I step inside, though, I see him. He's sitting with three guys. Each of them with different hairstyles – one with black, one with brown, and one with bright red. Coffee Boy is facing the door. He doesn’t see me. He’s smiling at something the redhead said. And though his smile is the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, I realize I should go.

I freeze.

I have the sudden urge to leave. I can’t be here. What in the world was I thinking? That I’d see him and then leave without freaking my guts out? What’s the matter with me? This was beyond creepy and borderline stalker material.

Coffee Boy didn’t deserve to have Barista Creep following him around.

I unfreeze and turn around, running out the restaurant and leaving and going as far as I can. There are a million thoughts rushing through me at once.


	4. Casper

Day twenty-four. Friday.

Yesterday, I did the most humiliating and character-crushing thing anybody could do. 

To recap the awful sequence of events (which I don't want to do), I must put in the record under my defense that Coffee Boy was no ordinary crush of mine - or anyone, for that matter. I admit that though my reasons weren't evil, they were highly misguided. I vow never to do anything like it again. This was Coffee Boy. A stranger. I was downright creepy and stalkerish. I can't even imagine how I'll even act around him today. Things will be different, for sure. At least for me. There was a line that I crossed yesterday.

"You okay?" Veronica asks, giving me a look. I turn to her. It's early morning and we're both walking to the coffee shop. Veronica insists on taking me when I've been particularly odd (like yesterday) so she can interrogate me. "Is this about your mom? Did you talk to her yesterday?" She adds.

I shrug. It actually wasn't about my mom, but now that she's mentioned it... it's become about my mom, too. "I - maybe?" I say, sticking running my hands up and down the straps of my backpack. "It's nothing. Seriously, you didn't have to take me to work. I'm fine."

“ _‘Fine’_ isn’t coming home from work and slamming the door with your back like you’re in a soap opera,” Veronica argues. “The only thing missing was you falling to the floor whilst leaning on the door.”

I almost laugh at her comment. “Okay, yeah, I was being dramatic yesterday. But I’m fine now. It was just an annoying customer,” I say. (Half true. It _was_ a customer, though he wasn’t annoying).

"Okay, whatever you say, B," Veronica says, resigned. She pulls out her phone from her pocket and begins scrolling down her Instagram feed. "Just so you never forget, you can always talk to me. Something's been bugging you lately."

She's absolutely right. Me ignoring my mother is taking the biggest toll on my life, and it's only getting worse now that the highlight of my dull days is seeing a stranger order coffee. I’ve become self-aware of how I’m wasting my life, and I can practically already hear my mother rambling about how I should have stayed in college, the words _I told you so_ echoing over and over.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, not quite believing it just as we’re in front of the coffee shop. “Okay, thanks for walking me, V. I’ll see you later,” I wave. “Have fun at your date today,” I add.

She winks. “Have fun too.”

 

Coffee Boy. He’s back to normal again when he arrives. He’s wearing his usual ensemble: dark jeans, a gray shirt, his beanie, and faded sneakers. And I’m back to holding my breath when he walks towards me – the counter, to be more accurate – and begins telling me his order. I try not to focus on the fact that his eyes are so blue.

I type his order that my fingers have memorized and he gives me the money. “Name?” I ask, an attempt to sound normal and professional. I hope he doesn’t see that my cheeks are redder than ever.

He looks at me for a split second. Like, right into my eyes. He never does that. Then he turns away and says, “Casper.”

“It’ll be right up,” I tell him with a smile; all the while I’m freaking my guts out. I can’t stop thinking about how I betrayed his trust yesterday (not that he places his trust in me, but still, one would get the point). I actually followed him like the creepiest loser in the universe.

He nods, and when his coffee's given to him, he nods curtly. “Thank you.” He's turning around, but then I make him stop.

“By the way, I’m Betty,” I blurt out in my utter stupidity. I’ve probably risked blowing my cover yet again because I _never_ say that. And to make matters worse, I’ve said it in the chirpiest, most annoying voice possible. He looks at me again.

Is it obvious? Oh God, it’s completely obvious. _I’m_ completely obvious. I feel naked. Absolutely naked, head-to-toe, no clothes on. I think it’s written all over my face that I stalked him yesterday. _He knows,_ I think _._ He knows that Coffee Girl has a crush on Coffee Boy. He knows that I’m an effing weirdo. He. Knows. He actually looks at me now. He's properly looking at me and I have no clear picture what he's thinking, but it's probably something along the lines of, _I'm never coming to this coffee shop again_.

"I know, it’s on your nametag,” he says, with an unreadable, blank expression. In the depths of it, though, I can tell he wants to leave because Coffee Creep has struck once again. I can sense his muscles want to turn around again and run away from me.

Just as he turns around, I call out, "Wait!" He faces me. "Well, um, have a great day," I stutter hastily, randomly grabbing a tissue from beside me and extending it to him. It occurs to me that I have no idea what I'm doing.

"And also have a tissue," I say, as though I couldn't make things worse than they already are. "Coffee's hot," I say unnecessarily. It's safe to say that every human (and creature) in the universe is currently suffering from second-hand embarrassment. I'm in an utter daze, and I'm talking nonsense to a  _stranger._ A  _customer._

He furrows his eyebrows for half a second, taking the tissue slowly. He's unsure. "Have a great day, too," he says quietly, turning around once more and leaving me staring like an idiot.

What have I done?

 


	5. Will

Day twenty-five. Saturday. I still haven't come to terms with how utterly humiliating I was yesterday. This was supposed to be a small crush, and now it's gone great lengths - stalking included. It's poking holes in my moral values, crazy as it sounds.

I heavily considered quitting this last night. But I don't need another reason for my mother to spam me with texts about how she  _told me so._ I also don't need another reason to go borrowing money from Veronica again - I already crash at her place, for Christ's sake.

So I'm going to show my face to Coffee Boy again today -  _if_ he comes. I think it's safe to assume he might not after how creepy I sounded yesterday. I'm sure he knows I like him, which must be ugly on his end. Now I'm starting to think he actually won't come in today - and I'm not sure which is worse.

But then he's here, walking through the doors, looking…drained?

He clearly looks like he’s been having the worst morning. He isn’t even wearing his crown beanie. Something is clearly bothering him, and I can’t help but feel concern. His lips are shut tight, as though he’s holding something in. Tears? Shouts? I have no idea. But it’s there, changing his very aura.

I’m taken back to the first time I saw him, and he can’t look more different.

When I saw him for the very first time twenty four days ago, I thought the ceiling fell down. But now, it’s come back up. The walls are in front of him, all around him, hiding him. And he looks so unfamiliar. His hair is a mess and his eyebags can’t get any darker and bigger and sadder. I didn’t think a stranger could make me feel so many emotions, because there’s something aching in my heart.

Why does he look this way? It’s beyond his mess of a hair and the lack of glint in his eyes. It’s the way he walks – not shy, just _sad._ I forget everything – even how creepy it is that I’m absorbed in the life of a stranger - and don’t even realize he’s already in front of me.

I stutter out my greeting, unable to get the point past my lips. “H-hey. Can I-? Can I-? Will you let me take your order?” I ask him. It’s embarrassing. _So_ embarrassing. But I don’t have time to think about that, because the look on his face occupies everything on my mind.

He nods, not looking at me. He never looks at me, so that part’s the same. And I already know his order anyway. “Oh yeah,” he says. “Two medium black coffees, to-go.”

Wait.

_Two?_

I try not to look so confused or shocked, but my widened eyes are probably failing me. I wonder why immediately. Does it have anything to do with how messed up he looks today? Or does it have _everything_ to do with it? It’s such a small thing, really. Just one more order.

But still. Everything about him is a routine – I’m always so sure. He shows up every day (except for when I don’t go to work on Sundays) and stays for an hour to use his laptop on Thursdays. He orders the exact same thing and wears that beanie. He was late once and talked on the phone once and that’s _it._ He has a different name every day. Always.

“Okay,” I say, typing in the order. “Name?”

“Ju-Will,” he answers. His eyes widen a bit as he says it – as though he’s made a mistake. God, he’s been cracking today.

“Juwill?” I repeat. What kind of name is that?

“Will,” he corrects, looking at me. Does he look nervous? Or is it just the sadness in his eyes? Everything’s happening so fast. But there’s a shift in the air. It’s more different than _different._ Today is the strangest.

Maybe he almost said his name.

I nod, a wild array of thoughts running through my head. And when his order comes, it takes a lot of energy on my end to stop me from asking him all the questions I need to know. _Are you okay? Why did you order two coffees? Why do you change your name every day?_

I hand it to him. And I just can’t help it again. “Do well today,” I say suddenly and sharply and chirpily, a clear contrast to his overall look. _Do well with what?_ What am I even doing or saying?

But it doesn’t matter. Because he smiles at me, and he doesn’t look so down anymore. “Thanks,” he tells me, his voice whole. His smile makes my day, and I’m left hoping I somehow made his.

When he leaves, I feel different.

Something’s changed. The mood changed. The environment changed. My day is different – way more different than it would’ve been if I hadn’t seen Coffee Boy at all today.

My mind feels busy but I don’t know why. Something’s bothering me – as though there’s a ticking clock or a bubble just about to burst or an itch I can’t scratch. Everything feels out of focus.

 

Later that day, Veronica and I are eating in a restaurant for dinner when she brings it up.

“And then I was reading the back of this vinyl and then he just walks in and then - hey, you’ve been acting weird all dinner,” she says, digging into her salad. She’s absolutely right. She’s me about this boy she met today at a record store and I’ve barely been commenting. Partly because I’m a bad friend but mostly because I can’t stop thinking about Coffee Boy and whatever is bothering me today.

What even _is_ bothering me today? It’s as if Coffee Boy’s lack of radiance today transcended into me.

Veronica’s looking at me expectantly. I shake my head. “Sorry,” I tell her. “I’m okay. Please, continue,” I say, giving her a smile. My head hurts.

“Okay, so his hair is like, this beautiful, bright re – are you sure you’re okay?” Veronica says again with her unbelieving eyes. “Is this about your mom?”

I don’t know if it’s about my mom.

Something rips into my chest and an overwhelming sense of panic fills me. I haven’t been doing _anything._ I can’t be a barista forever. But what can I do? I threw everything away. _Everything._ To prove I’m something I’m not.

I hate to make our conversation about myself again – especially about my bad relationship with my mother, but when I start talking I can’t seem to stop. “Sorry, it’s just…” Veronica nods, urging me on. “I’ve been doing this barista thing for what, a year? And nothing’s changed. I keep trying to figure out what I want but I can’t. And lately there’s only one good thing about my day and it’s the smallest thing and it’s all I can think about and it sucks. I can’t talk to my mom and I don’t read her texts and I can’t show my face to anybody I know but _you._ Why is that?”

I say it with such stress – with a strain on my voice. I feel I’m cracking.

There’s a silence that follows. Something dawns on me. It _is_ about my mom. Why is Veronica always right?

Veronica’s face falls into sympathy. I hate that Veronica can’t even talk about her dating life without the expression on my face interrupting her. I really am the worst friend. “B… this is completely up to you, but I think you should call her,” Veronica says.

And I know she’s right again.

I nod, feeling a sense of painful relief. I feel tears start to well in my eyes. I think about what Coffee Boy must be going through and I wonder if he’s facing whatever’s made him so sad so suddenly. I hope he’s doing well, like I wished he would.

And then somehow that thought of Coffee Boy gives me the strength I need - a surge that I should do something, too.

Veronica buys me ice cream that night. And when I get home, I go inside my room and dial my mom’s number. My heart’s beating out of my chest. But I know this is what I have to do.


	6. Alex

Day twenty-seven. Monday. I didn’t see Coffee Boy yesterday, but it feels as if I haven’t seen him in weeks.

I’m strangely excited to see him today. I feel like a totally new person after what happened Saturday night. Things, to an extent, feel better. Maybe not _perfect._ Not even resolved. But _better,_ I’m sure. I hope he’s better, too.

The other night, somehow, he inspired me. How odd for a stranger to inspire me. But he did. And he didn’t even have to try. All I had to do was remember the look on his face – something torn between fault and blues. I know seeing someone look very sad then feeling inspired to call your mother is counter-intuitive, but it happened. And I _know_ it’s because of him.

I remember being so thoroughly afraid of calling her. Because a little under a year ago, I told her I was dropping out of college and she told me I was being stupid. I told her I needed time to figure things out and she told me I was making the biggest mistake of my life. I told her I was going to prove her otherwise and she told me to never speak to her again until I knocked some sense into my brain.

I don’t think I’d cried harder in my life.

I guessed she’d regretted what she’d said a couple of months later, because suddenly she was all over my messages and calling me almost every night. I never read her messages because I knew they’d hurt too much. I never answered her calls because I was failing at everything. But I never blocked her number because I knew that one day I’d talk to her.

My mother doesn’t know if I’m in LA or not. She doesn’t know I’m a barista. She doesn’t know I’m crashing with Veronica Lodge. But now, at least, she knows I’m okay. I’m safe. I’m fine. And I think that’s a start.

I wouldn’t call our phone call successful. It was anything but. It was awkward at best, but neither of us had the energy to get angry or the guilt to apologize. My father _did_ call us the most stubborn girls he’d ever met.

She wanted to know if I was okay. I told her I was. I asked her if she was fine. She said she was.

Then she asked what I was doing, and I told her I had things brewing (funny wordplay never hurt anybody). And then the call ended after three and a half minutes. We ended the call with, _“Talk to you soon.”_ But quite frankly, I don’t know if either of us will ever work up the nerve to call the other again.

Things are strange, I guess. We are civil, I suppose – not on good terms but not on bad ones. There’s a silent agreement now that states we won’t get personal. At least not yet.

To be frank, I don’t know where I stand with my mother. But I definitely feel better. So now I stand by the counter, waiting for Coffee Boy to walk in. _Is he going to walk in?_ I wonder.

I can hardly stand still as I wait. As I’ve mentioned, I’m excited to see him. I hope he’s looking better. I hope he feels better. I hope he’s coming at all.

Coffee Boy walks in at exactly eight-thirty, looking much better than he did last Friday – but not quite the same. I’m sure he’s gotten sleep and I’m glad to see the beanie on his head. His hair is neatly done, his clothes put on carefully. He looks exactly like how he normally would.

Except something’s changed.

Something’s _greatly_ changed, I’m sure of it. And it isn’t physical. Strangely, it’s his aura. It’s the way he’s walking, the way his eyes don’t have their magical glint anymore. And I realize that the most microscopical changes are somehow the biggest. He looks tired, as if his soul’s been torn apart. He doesn’t look the same.

He looks more different than he did on Saturday.

I feel a hitch in my breath as he walks to where I stand. I know I’m looking like Coffee Creep Betty again, but I simply can’t help it. I’m looking at him, boring into him, trying to figure him out.

Why do I wonder? He’s a stranger. I am never, ever, under any circumstances, going to figure out who he actually is. It dawns on me in this moment. And I’m too busy thinking about Coffee Boy that I don’t realize he’s been talking.

“ – to-go,” he finishes.

What did he say?

I blink quickly. He probably just said his normal order, right? Or what if he did the two-coffee thing again? I’m in panic mode all of a sudden. “Wait. Sorry. What?” I say, shaking my head quickly.

He makes eye contact with me and I detonate.

His eyes widen a bit and he looks taken aback. Wait. Why is _he_ taken aback? Now _I’m_ taken aback because he’s taken aback. Gibberish expressions explode in my head.

“I – I said,” he stutters, blinking rapidly. Is he nervous? I think he’s nervous. Oh my God. He’s nervous. But why? “One medium – ”

“Yeah, sorry. Got it,” I interrupt, breaking my gaze at his most beautiful blue eyes. “Ninety-nine cents,” I tell him. Act cool act cool act cool.

If he looked nervous a few seconds ago, he doesn’t now. Either he recovers fast or I was hallucinating. He nods, handing it to me. He already has his money in his hand. Like always. Things are the same. Except they aren’t. Or maybe he’s the same and _I’m_ not. What is happening?

“Name?” I ask.

“Alex,” he replies smoothly. No stutter. I remember the mess-up last time. Ju-Will. What’s the Ju? Junah? Is that even a name? Is it his name or did he stutter some random syllable that has no correlation with his real name whatsoever?

I nod, acting cool. But really, my insides are burning. There’s something boiling inside of me. Not anger, I’m sure. Something else. Like some kind of anticipation for something. What is it? What is it?

Time flies so fast and I don’t even realize I’ve given him his order and he’s leaving.


	7. Coffee Boy

Day twenty-eight. Tuesday.

It’s half past ten o’clock in the morning.

And Coffee Boy hasn’t shown up.

Either he’s two hours late or he isn’t going to show up. And I already know the answer.

Seeing him yesterday – and just _knowing_ that everything was different, it was a sign, I think. That something had greatly changed.

I stand where I always stand, just waiting for someone I know isn’t going to come. I can almost imagine him walking through the doors, beanie on head, eyes so blue with his hands in his pockets. He didn’t know how handsome and how eye-catching he was. He didn’t know that the ceiling fell down the moment he walked in. He didn’t _know._

It dawns on me how invested I am. In a stranger. I mean, he’s a stranger! I don’t even know his name, for Christ’s sake. I know nothing about him. But I do know this: he’s someone who’s living for something – who has a life, who has dreams and nightmares and fears and interests, and I know that he cares for something and someone. Maybe he has a girlfriend or a boyfriend or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he’s in college, or maybe he’s working a job he hates, or maybe he doesn’t even live in Los Angeles anymore. Maybe he moved away last night.

It’s ten thirty and he isn’t here.

 

Day twenty-nine. Wednesday.

Coffee Boy didn’t show up yesterday.

Is he going to show up again today? Is he?

I don’t think so.

It’s nine-thirty and he hasn’t shown up. And I think he’s never going to show up again.

He’s never coming back and I don’t even know his name.

It’s been thirty days and I’m never going to know his name.

 

Day thirty Thursday.

It’s nine o’clock and he hasn’t shown up. I already know he won’t.

I realize that part of what makes my day special is the presence of Coffee Boy. And yeah, maybe I’m an idiot (of course I’m an idiot) for liking a stranger when I could very well make my life easier and like a person I’ve actually _met._ But is it really idiotic to fall for someone with the most beautiful eyes?

My chest has a heavy feeling I don’t quite know how to explain. Maybe I’m totally shallow. I mean, I do like him for his looks alone. He smiles sometimes and talks quietly and walks like an angel. Who likes someone for _those_ reasons? People like other people for chemistry, for sharing interests, for midnight talks. Not for seeing them walk into a coffee shop.

I don’t even know him. I’m Coffee Creep Betty. He’s Coffee Boy. And yes, maybe for four weeks we were in the same space for five minutes at a time, but we’re still a thousand worlds away. We’re still not connected. He’s still beautiful and I’m still irrational.

And right now, as my mind fills with endless ramblings about where I stand with a stranger I’ve fallen for, said stranger enters the coffee shop.

Said. Stranger. Enters. The. Coffee. Shop.

Coffee Boy.

The ceiling falls. The sky falls. The whole universe implodes.

I freeze. And no, this isn’t just tight-lipped, rigid backbone, unmoving muscles kind of frozen. It’s _more._ Much more. My mind freezes. My soul freezes. The entire world around me freezes except for him. And only him. I can’t think. I can’t do anything.

He enters, not holding his laptop like he always does on Thursdays. He walks in empty-handed. He looks almost completely back to normal. Beanie. Gray t-shirt. Jeans. Sneakers.

Except.

_Except._

He’s looking right at me.

When has he ever walked in here with eyes locked on mine? When has he ever walked here without his hands in his pockets and his head bowed low? When has he ever walked in here with an expression of such purpose?

Coffee Boy, I’m beyond frozen.

He stands right in front of me, blue eyes locked on mine. He looks nervous. So nervous. Why is _he_ nervous? Oh my God. _Oh my God._

“Betty,” he says. No. He doesn’t just _say it._ He breathes it. Like he’s out of breath. But he isn’t even out of breath. But the way he’s saying it… I don’t even realize right away that he’s said my name. He’s said my name! _My_ name!

I know it’s on my nametag. But he seems to know it already.

I say nothing. Because like I’ve said, I’m frozen.

I stare at him.

“Hey, I’m not going to order. I just… okay, this is gonna sound crazy…” he begins, taking in a deep breath. He exhales, but he’s still looking at me. “I know you don’t know me. Maybe you recognize me, maybe you don’t. Either way… I’m just a regular customer here. I change my name every day ‘cause I’m an idiot.”

He’s looking at me expectantly, trying to catch any register of expression on my face. I don’t think he registers anything, though, because like I’ve mentioned – I’m _frozen._

“When I first went to try out this joint I was expecting really bad coffee,” he says. He smiles to himself. His smile is so beautiful – but I don’t have time to think about that. “But then I was wrong – I mean, I was right. The coffee here _sucks._ ” He chuckles softly and nervously.

“But then I started going here for different reasons. I started… I started writing again because of you. I haven’t done it in a while. You’re just a stranger and all I really know about you is your name but there’s… God, how – how do I make this sound not… Okay, I know this sounds creepy – but I swear, it’s not like that.” He shakes his head, mumbling and rambling.

His expression has softened. I almost don’t recognize him. Coffee Boy is telling me everything I don’t expect to hear. He’s looking at me in a way he’s never looked at me before. And right now, he’s so real. So, so real.

I don’t know what face I’m making, but his eyes widen sudden, as if he’s realizing all of this. “It’s weird. And creepy. And I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just – I should go. I know this is creepy. I shouldn’t have even – _thank you._ ”

The way he says it is so sincere. So _full._

He turns around and leaves as quick as he came. I’m calling after him, I’m running after him. Except I’m not. Because I’m _frozen._

And I’m still frozen.


	8. Jughead

Day thirty-seven. Thursday.

Seven days since I’ve seen Coffee Boy.

Seven days since I’ve made the mistake of having to freeze at the very worst moment.

Clearly, it’s one of my biggest regrets.

Because this whole time, Coffee Boy has known who I am. This whole time, he’s seen me. Me. And he’s known me. He’s liked me. It makes sense and at the same time it doesn’t. I mean, he’s never been a guy to show much emotion (unlike myself). Hiding it all makes sense. He’s shy. He isn’t outspoken. He’s quiet.

But then again – why? What did he see in me? How did I make him start writing again? Why did he decide to change his name every day?

And now I might never know. I’ll still never know his name. I’ll still never know him. All because I let my shock overwhelm me.

At this moment, sadness overwhelms me.

Somehow, hearing he’s liked me this whole time is the worst thing ever.

He’s liked me this whole time but I’m never, ever going to see him again.

The worst part is he’s never going to know I felt the same way, too.

 

“What’s going on with you lately?” Suzette, my coworker, asks me. “You keep looking at the door.” She wipes her hands with a towel. It’s eleven and the morning rush is over. My morning rush has been over for quite a while.

I blink quickly, turning to her. “Oh. Just bored,” I tell her. Wrong. I feel horrible.

“You look miserable,” she says, hands at her sides. “Are you okay? What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing,” I lie. Coffee Boy is bothering me. Or the lack of him.

She looks at me disbelievingly. “Take the rest of the day off,” she tells me, putting down her hand towel. She smiles. “I’ll cover for you.”

I frown. “What?”

“Treat yourself,” she says. “Go home, buy some ice cream, watch a movie. Just don’t sulk, okay?”

Ice cream at home does sound like a promising idea. I smile at her. “Really?”

“For real. Now shoo.” She laughs, waving me off. Suzette’s the best.

“Thank you. I owe you one,” I leave the counter and take my bag.

 

When I arrive home, Veronica’s leaning on the counter and talking on the phone. “Yes,” she says. When she sees me, her eyes widen, and she smiles. “Actually, make that two pizzas… Pineapple’s for losers…Okay, thank you.”

She ends the call, turning to me. “Hey,” I say.

“You’re back so early!” She exclaims, running towards me. “He’s here. The guy I’m seeing – Record Store Boy. It’s time for you to meet him.”

Now my eyes widen. I didn’t know she was still seeing Record Store Boy. “Really? Oh my God!” I say. I’m excited for her – I’ve never seen Veronica so excited over a boy. “In your bedroom?” I ask, giving her a look.

“Yeah. But don’t worry, he’s clothed,” Veronica tells me. She grabs my hand and takes me to her room, my bag still in hand. She opens the door, revealing a guy watching La La Land on the television. “Hey, you unpaused without me!” She said, sitting down on her bed and hitting pause.

The guy is so not Veronica’s usual type. For one, he isn’t wearing expensive clothes. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and baggy jeans. His hair is a bright red in color. He looks familiar – but he could be any Los Angeles boy, really. When he sees me, he stands up and offers his hand. “Hey, you’re Betty? Veronica talks about you a lot,” he tells me.

I shake his hand and smile. He’s friendly. “I am, yeah. And you are…?”

“Archie,” he replies.

I stop thinking for a split second. Coffee Boy once used Archie.

“So glad you two have met!” Veronica says, snapping me out of my thoughts. She sits up and hooks her arm around his. “Archie’s from UCLA. He’s a senior and he wants to be a songwriter.”

I nod. “Cool.” Why is he so familiar?

I can see why she likes him, though. He’s the perfect gentleman, sweet and would do anything with her – like watch La La Land.

“He and I are going club crashing this week – he just turned twenty-one two weeks ago,” Veronica continues.

I stop thinking again for more than a split second. Because then it hits me.

Archie. Red hair. Familiarity. Birthday two weeks ago.

I step back. “Wait. Did you celebrate it at the Blue Mahogany?” I ask him. There’s something rising up up up inside of me. Hope, I think.

Archie steps back. “Uh…yeah? How did you – ”

“Oh my God.” My hand falls to my chest. I feel cold all of a sudden. And hot. My mind is spinning. Suddenly Coffee Boy isn’t out of reach.

Veronica’s eyes widen. “What? Betty, how – ”

“You’re Archie,” I say, pointing at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, I am,” Archie nods slowly, eyebrows furrowed. He’s so confused. So confused. Veronica’s so confused. But I don’t have time to explain. Because I’m freaking out. I’m. Freaking. Out.“How do you know where I celebrated my birthday – ”

“Who attended your birthday? White shirt, always late? Black hair, blue eyes? Tell me,” I ask so quickly I forget to breathe. How is this happening? How. Is. This. Happening? The world feels brighter. Everything is brighter.

My heart is beating out of its chest. Oh my God oh my God oh my God. It’s happening. This is actually happening. I’m pinching myself. Is the universe serious?

“My roommate? Jughead?” He answers, raising an eyebrow.

“JUGHEAD?! That’s his name?” I repeat, jaw dropping. I hold onto Veronica’s arm. Jughead. God, no wonder he has never said his name. It’s horrible. I can’t imagine ever being called Jughead.

“Betty, what’s going on?” Veronica asks, a look of concern all over her face.

Veronica’s boyfriend is Coffee Boy’s roommate.

“I don’t know how to explain…” I say. I’m smiling now. Smiling so wide it hurts. “But… Archie – where do you live?”

“Where do I – ? Why would I answer that?” He says. Is he irritated? Doesn’t matter. He knows Coffee Boy. He’s directly associated with him. He’s close. So unbelievable within my reach.

“Your roommate, he’s – okay, this is going to sound crazy. But I’ve been obsessed with him for weeks,” I say, holding my head between my hands.

“That is crazy, Betty,” Veronica says, holding my arm. “Are you okay?”

“What do you mean?” Archie asks, hands at his sides. He’s trying to calm down, trying to wrap his head around it all.

“But last week I… I realized that he’s been obsessed with me, too,” I continue. I look at them both. “Not in a creepy way,” I add.

“Is there a non-creepy way to obsess over someone?” Veronica asks rhetorically, but she’s smiling. I know she doesn’t completely understand what’s going on, but I don’t think she’s ever seen me this excited.

I smile at her quickly before looking at Archie again. “I’ve been staring at your roommate every day for four weeks,” I say, trying to sound calm. But then I start rambling. “He changes his name every day at the coffee shop I work at and he comes on Thursdays to type on his computer and I stare at him the whole time and…he told me one week ago he started writing again because of me…” I pause to smile. “He’s a writer, isn’t he?” I ask.

Archie nods. “This whole time,” I continue, “it was a mutual thing and I didn’t know but I froze when he told me that and I didn’t come after him and…”

I trail off, catching my breath. It all comes back to me.

Veronica’s smiling so widely. Her mouth opens in shock. “I can’t believe you never told me!” She shakes her head, almost laughing.

I look at her apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

She waves it off. “I get it. It’s weird. And this coincidence is just… wow. I need all the deets tonight, okay? But for now… Archie, tell her where you live,” she orders, turning to him.

Archie looks at Veronica and then to me. “I can’t believe he never told me, either,” he mumbles. “Whatever. I’ll roast him later… Anyway, he’s not home. He has a summer job – at the library.”

The library? That’s a five-minute walk away.

Coffee Boy is five minutes away.

No, scratch that.

Jughead. Jughead – who has the strangest name ever – is five minutes away.

I thank them as fast as I can, bolting through the door.

 

Five minutes feels like forever. But it also feels like the fastest walk of my life. Time is curving, stretching, shrinking – and none of this actually makes any sense. But it’s a miracle. A miracle.

A miracle.

I step inside the library and it takes a lot of energy to not scream and run looking for him. But it’s a large space, and he could be anywhere. He could be in between tall bookshelves or on a computer or whatever. But he’s here. Stepping in, I just know he is.

I look around – students, old people, adults. They’re all quiet and doing their own thing. Employees are pushing carts and helping people. My heart is racing like crazy. I go into the back section, hoping he’s hidden somewhere there.

And almost as though for the first time, I see him again in a shelf by the corner.

This is it.

I know I saw him last week, but this is different. It’s so different.

Because now I know more about him. I know his name.

And I know it’s a really strange name. But it fits. He never seemed like someone out of the ordinary, anyway.

He doesn’t see me. He’s returning books while reading through them briefly. I catch him alone, in a moment so oddly intimate. He doesn’t know how beautiful he looks, eyes focused on the text, his physique tall and lean and his face so absorbed.

I walk toward him and he doesn’t notice. Coffee Boy – Jughead – never notices anything. I mean, he thought I didn’t like him. He’s so unaware. He’s always been so unaware.

My whole mind is aware, though, of how this is a miracle. A miracle.

“Hey,” I say. I must look ridiculous, sneaking up on him like this, still in my barista uniform. But I don’t care. He’s seen me looking like this every day.

He turns to his left and jumps when he sees me. His blue eyes widen. “Oh my God!” He practically shouts, stepping back and dropping a thick hardbound. Someone pretty far away makes a shushing sound. He lowers his voice. “Oh my God,” he whispers.

I give him a shy smile, and then it’s his turn to freeze. My hands are cold – but there’s no way I’m freezing like I did last time. I can’t believe he’s here. Less than a foot away from me. I’m not used to the lack of counter separating us. I’m not used to him looking at me and only me, eyes so full of light and something else beautiful. He’s still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.

All of this has been boiling inside of me for days. And I’m going to spill it out. Right here, right now.

“Look, I froze last time and I…I regret it,” I explain. I should’ve probably thought this through on the way here, because now I know I’m about to become a rambling mess. “A lot. I didn’t think it was possible to be so shocked. I mean, I froze. Like, literally, I couldn’t bring myself to move or react.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “But I’ve found you now, thankfully,” I continue, “and I need you to know that I’ve noticed you, too. I really have. Since the first day you walked in…as Theo.”

He smiles. “You remember – ?”

“I remember perfectly.” I’m smiling back. And I can’t believe all of this.

“I remember, too,” he replies. He’s so nervous and I’ve never seen him like this before. “You look great, by the way. Not that you need my opinion.” My heart flutters like crazy.

“Thanks. I think you look great, too,” I tell him. Understatement of the century. He looks like he could be in the movies.

We’re quiet for a little bit. Shock is a funny feeling. Something is tingling inside me.

“So, Jughead, huh?” I say. Is it awkward? I hope it isn’t. Not that it matters. I’m too shocked.

He smiles again. And it’s so beautiful. “I have so many questions ... like how did you find me?”

I don’t know if I should tell him. But I do anyway.

“Your roommate is dating my roommate,” I explain, “and I recognised him from when I followed you into the Blue Mahogany which I am so sorry for, by the way. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to stalk you but I swear I walked out the moment I saw you because what the hell is wrong with me, right? And I understand if now you’re freaked out and you don’t want to talk to me – ”

“Betty, will you go on a date with me tonight?” He interrupts.

I stop.

He’s smiling so beautifully right now. His eyes, oh his eyes.

I see him now. And I’m not sure how I’ve gotten so lucky to have found him again.

And no, the sky isn’t clear. I’m still not friends with my mother. I’m still a barista and a college dropout. It’s not where I want to be right now, but in the mean time, I think I’ve found someone to get to know better. To understand.

I don’t know his story yet. I don’t know what caused him to be so sad or why he wears that crowned beanie on his head. I don’t even know his last name.

Later I will, though. I’ll learn that he wears a beanie in the shape of a crown ironically – an homage to his embarrassing adolescent rebellion. I’ll learn that he was sad because of unresolved issues with a drunk father and a deadbeat mother. I’ll learn that he writes nonfiction novels and the name Jughead is a bad nickname for an even worse real name.

I’m going to fall so, so in love with him.

But not today. Because today I have a date with a boy, and up until now I had no idea what his name was. And alas, I finally do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this story!! I didn’t want to overdo the ending because I wanted it to still be the simple, sweet story that I started with. It’s open-ended, I think, because I like leaving things open for more stories and questions and ideas. I hope it was enough closure and not disappointing. I think this is the first story I’ve written where I finished it because I wanted to and not because I felt obligated to. So thank you!! :) woop
> 
> – Erin

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @svmberg


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